☽ Peter ☽

With my head against the backseat window of my mother's car, the world fades to a distant memory as it passes. We lost the radio a few minutes ago, and I've gotten myself tangled in the cord of my headphones. The trip to our lake house is an hour away, tucked in the countryside out of Northwood, and I'm passing the time by checking the group chat before I fall out of cell service completely.

[AC Group Chat—the teen high school tragicomedy starring Dwayne the Rock Johnson as the guy whose name means rock]

Nicole:
if you put an odour absorber and an air freshener in the same room, would you smell something or not?

Lexa:
are you ok??

Nicole:
this is important scientific research, peter please respond

Peter:
How close are we talking here?

Nicole:
idk right next to each other I guess?

Peter:
The things you think about are concerning to me.

Nicole:
Yeah ok suuure
You say dumb shit at 2 am all the time

Evan:
Cite ur sources pls

Nicole:
OK SO there's the time he sent me a text in the middle of the night and it was like
if the day restarted, but everyone KNEW it restarted, would it be tomorrow or today

Evan:
Today...?

Peter:
But why? Think about it. Everyone knows the day restarted, therefore it would be tomorrow. The only way it could still be considered "today" would be if everyone still did the exact same thing as the original today.

Nicole:
oh boy, here we go again

Evan:
Okay sure, but the date is still the same, isn't it? Isn't that still "today" though?

Peter:
What defines "today"? Is it the date or the actions? Think about how one might perceive the day if you were the only person that knew the day had repeated. It would be tomorrow for you, right? Because even though the date is the same, time has passed for you.

Nicole:
ALRIGHR WHAGEVT JUST TELL ME WOULD IT SMELL OR NOT

Lexa:
Nikki...

Nicole:
:-(

Evan:
But despite the fact that you experienced time differently, would it not still be today? Surely if someone left for another planet where time was different and more than a day had passed for them, people would still adhere to the correct date? The date has nothing to do with the perception of time, and it stays fixed because a day hasn't technically passed.

Nicole:
Holy shit

Peter:
Who says we haven't accidentally skipped a day somewhere along the line? Doesn't that make keeping the date irrelevant?

Evan:
I guess
I give up this makes my head hurt

Nicole:
you've managed to last longer than I did to be fair lmaoo

Evan:
Do you sit bolt upright in the middle of the night thinking of these things

Peter:
No, I just spend far too much time on Wikipedia for my own good.

Evan:
for the blog, I'm guessing

Nicole:
That's just how it is sometimes

I look up. My mother is driving, and my father sits in the passenger seat, his phone cradled to his ear. He chatters away to the employee taking care of the hotel while he's away, directing her to change the sign outside, to fix the leaky taps in room 57, to remember to leave the key in its designated spot, (in the flowerpot at the house) before the security guard takes over for the overnight shift.

"Karim," my mother starts, her tone gentle, "give me that." She reaches for the cellphone. My father barks out his last unneeded reminder before wishing the employee good luck and hanging up the line.

In the distance, an acidic blue sky crackles with the promise of rain. A few stray droplets hit the windshield, the sound like tiny pebbles, but it does nothing to dampen my parents' mood.

Nicole:
anywayyyy, what snacks are we bringing for movie night everyone?
DO NOT BRING ANYTHING HEALTHY

Peter:
Why do I feel like that's aimed at me?

Nicole:
BC IT IS
YOU HAVE BROUGHT A VEGETABLE PLATE TO OUR SLEEPOVERS???

Peter:
My parents wanted me to bring it.

Lexa:
What about popcorn?

Nicole:
HELL YEA

Peter:
Fruit?

Nicole:
FOR GODS SAKE BOY

Peter:
Kidding!

Nicole:
oh thank GOD
I was genuinely worried there

Evan:
chocolate?

Nicole:
finally someone with some sense

Evan:
what kind

Nicole:
A L L
anything peanut butter is obviously superior

Peter:
No. You are allergic. This is nonnegotiable.

Nicole:
🙄
what are we drinking?

Jay:
air

Nicole:
and so he rises to be annoying...

Lexa:
No illegal activities

Nicole:
I am choosing to ignore the fact that you said
"illegal" because come on, I'm a good child I would NEVER EVER commit a crime, I don't even know what crimes are

Lexa:
Riiight

Peter:
I can see you committing grand larceny.

Nicole:
don't we all do that

Lexa:
wh at???

Jay:
No?

Nicole:
I CANR BELIEVE THIS
I AM UNINVITING ALL OF YOU
EVAN IS MY ONLY FRIEND NOW

Evan:
What makes you think I would commit a crime

Nicole:
you seem like the kinda guy who enjoys some casual arson

Evan:
Are you serious
Is that a compliment, I honestly can't tell

Nicole:
you could get away with it, I think. just pretend to be a tiny child. it's not hard

Evan:
My height wouldn't give it away?

Nicole:
well no I mean you're almost shorter than lexa

Lexa:
finally I'm not the short one!

Nicole:
no u still r

Lexa:
:(

Evan:
Wait okay, seriously though, how tall are you

Nicole:
AS TALL AS MALIA OBAMA

Evan:
but why malia obama

Lexa:
Don't go there

Nicole:
And with heels I can beat Delacroix

Peter:
What if I bring the steel-toed boots.

Nicole:
I H8 YOU AND YOUR FANCY BOOTS
Every year we have complete to see who can be the tallest wearing winter boots. Last year i finally won (:

Peter:
Yes, because I allowed boots that weren't technically winter, and you came wearing five-inch heels.

Nicole:
If I can't beat him again this year I'm going to cry
but you'd best believe it
six inch heels my pal

Lexa:
I didn't even know those existed
you're going to break your ankles

Nicole:
idk I'll tape a pair of heels to ANOTHER pair of heels

Peter:
I'm worried about you.

Nicole:
I don't need legs
if you want Evan, you can participate

Evan:
I doubt I'll able to find a pair of shoes that bring me anywhere close to you two sentient trees

Nicole:
either way, you can come shopping with me if you want

My cell service drops off after that. The turnoff for the camp comes into view, the thick line of trees closing in on us. Branches scrape against the window as the gravel grinds underneath the wheels. I turn up the sound of my music to drown it out, focusing on the rain as it crisscrosses the pathway, falling sideways.

The car is parked at the end of the road. A stream runs parallel to the beaten path, overflowing from the rainfall. I dodge out of the car at the same moment my father does, and he leads me in the direction of the lake house. It's a quaint building, facing the sun, with a triangular window at the centre. Wooden beams of different types make up the structure, and a few chairs and tables sit outside, dyed a darker shade of tawny brown from the downpour.

My father slides inside the house and moves to start a fire in the woodstove. My room is directly to the left; it comprises a bed against the wall, and a desk next to it framed with lights. It belonged to my mother before me, and her trinkets line the surface. A hand-painted doll, an old music box, and a chest filled with pieces of sea glass recovered from the ocean. But I brush past it and open the topmost drawer. There, my journal waits for my return, bound in leather, and left untouched since last summer.

I don't remember when exactly I started writing in it. I used it to track when we visited, but now it exists as a way to write letters to my future self. The spine cracks as I open the book, turning it to the most recent entry. It's dated for August; my handwriting loops across the page, blotting in certain areas and dipping over the lines.

Pierre du futur,

The next time you see this, you'll most likely be in your senior year of high school. Everyone, including papa and maman, is already asking me what I plan to do once I graduate. I suppose it's a perfectly valid question, considering that I used to tell them I wanted to be an astronaut. And when I see extended family, they still ask if that's my goal, as if I can never be allowed to switch.

I can't help but feel like I missed out on something. You know, last time I was here, I felt it was improbable to get a boyfriend, but now I'm unsure.

I think Nicole wants to visit other places. She keeps convincing me that I should go on a vacation somewhere, one of these days. I haven't really thought about it.

To Pierre of the past, you are doing okay. I promise.

To Pierre of the future, let me know how it goes.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought for sure I'd mentioned Sam in my last entry.

"Pierre! Come here for a minute?" my father yells from the living room. I set the journal on my bedsheets and enter the room to help him load firewood into the stove. Once he strikes the match, the wisps of fire spread across the dry wood—I stick my hands towards the warmth, trying to dry my clothes.

The camp is built like a bunker. My parents keep the cupboards stocked as if preparing for the worst. Sometimes, I wonder what they're worried about, but I don't have to this time. It's not for the change of scenery, as my mother keeps claiming—over and over—like that will make it true. They want to wait for the storm to pass, for when my life goes back on track.

A gale of wind shakes the cabin. In the distance, my father is setting up the generator. The gentle hum of electricity fills the room as the lights flicker on in unison, and the heat rises to a comfortable level.

Eventually, the neighbours from the house nearest to us come by to visit. They're my father's acquaintances, and the chatter filters in the background. I scroll mindlessly through my messages to appear occupied, and my heart churns as I read a text that I had missed before.

The blog. Evan mentioned it in passing, but the longer I stare at it, the more I struggle to comprehend it. How does he know about the blog?

He shouldn't know it exists unless he was part of Sam's plan. My chest feels empty, and a gnawing worry starts to dig into me. I hold my phone in my hand with a neutral expression on my face, unfocused on the movement around me. The heat dissipates as quickly as it came, and automatically—without realizing that I'm moving, my legs take over—I breeze into my room and shut the door behind me. I'm left pacing in semi-circles, checking the message endlessly, as if it's going to disappear if I keep opening it to look, to try tricking my brain into believing it was never there. I don't know what to do—how to react.

The torrential wind picks up speed. Through the window, at the base of the property, I can see the water of the stream as it courses over the rocks, overflowing with a sort of anger that fills me. Without giving myself time to second guess it, I tilt my phone towards the sky and dial Evan's number.

The line rings in time with my thudding heartbeat. Evan picks up on the second ring, and his voice is barely audible. "Peter?" He sounds like he's calling from underwater; the sound is muffled like he's got his hand pressed against the receiver. "Are you okay?"

"Not really." My tone comes out too harsh, and the line falls silent.

I have too much to say, and I consider hanging up, but then Evan sighs, and whispers, "Me neither."

"Just tell me," I rasp. The three tiny words crack and shatter like a broken promise; irreparable, and held together by glue strung with lies. "I'm not going to let you do this again. Just tell me that it's a joke, okay? I've had enough of it."

My hand hits the wall like it's my last tether to reality. I look upwards to prevent myself from crying and silently count the lines on my ceiling. I reach seventeen before Evan replies, "What are you talking about? What's a joke?"

"I can't believe I fell for it a second time. You must think I'm so foolish, don't you? That—"

"Listen, I need you to explain it to me," Evan interrupts and heaves like he's tired of it. "Please, Peter. This isn't making sense."

You're right. It doesn't make sense. "How do you know about the blog?" I ask softly.

Another prolonged silence. I can hear the rain on Evan's end of the line, crackling like thunder. "I know because Claire sent me the link. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before—honestly, I guess I thought we'd moved past that. But if you're still stuck on it—"

"Stuck on it?" I interrupt him. My voice lifts a note higher than usual, and I have to force myself to rein it back—that I can't keep track of what I want to say; words I never got a chance to express before. "Sam messed with my head. He pretended that he liked me for months, and maybe it makes me stupid, but I thought he cared. I thought there was a possibility we might... that we could... that he wasn't such a jerk. I don't get to come back from that. I'm always going to be that guy who tried to kiss Sam Fields, do you understand me? Always. That's what comes up when you search for my name"—I take a heaving breath—"and that will never go away. I'm stuck with the reminder, no matter what happens, and he stays unscathed. And I'm not allowed to be stuck on that?"

"I'm sorry," Evan says, but I hardly hear it.

My thoughts are moving faster than I can keep track of, and the questions are thudding around in my head. I manage to get a hold of myself for long enough to ask him, "Did you send me a message, back then?"

"Yes," Evan answers.

"What did it say?" A white flash of lightning cuts across the cloudy sky, and I lift a hand to block out the sound of the rumbling thunder. It vibrates inside my rib cage like a terrified animal scraping at the door, trying desperately to find a way out. And my resolve is at the point of breaking—I expect it like I expect the rain—it always falls, eventually.

"Why does that matter?" he asks. So I stand there, in muted silence, and eventually, Evan continues, his voice low and scratchy, like he's afraid of being overheard, "I honestly don't remember what I said. Okay?"

"I need you to remember," I urge. "Evan, this is important. I'm sorry that I let you in. That I can't handle being tricked and having to deal with knowing everything about someone only to find out it was all a lie."

He sighs, and replies, "And I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to tell you. I don't remember. And I really have to go, before I get in trouble."

Evan hangs up. In a hazy stupor, I navigate to the bed, lying in a heap. And that's when the first tear finally falls.